Today I was pleased to help launch a collection of new histories now published and available in the Dictionary of Sydney. Funded by the Maritime Museums of Australia Project Support Scheme, these new entries are laced with fascinating information about the days following the arrival of the First Fleet, the fate of the returning ships, and events on the voyage out. I was honoured to be working among such a distinguished group of authors: Professor Gary Sturgess, Penny Edwell, Michaela Ann Cameron and David Morgan, a fellow volunteer for the Dictionary. The only existing ship entry, HMS Sirius, was contributed back in 2010 by historian and Dictionary volunteer, Garry Wotherspoon. Thanks to the combined efforts of the contributors and the dedicated staff at the Dictionary, there are now 12 entries documenting this historic convoy. I worked on three of these, which was quite a challenge! How to tell the story of an eight-month voyage in 500-800 words?! But here they all are:

• In a new essay, Professor Gary Sturgess explores the challenges faced by Arthur Phillip after the First Fleet arrived at Sydney Cove. Having successfully managed both the fleet and the convicts on a voyage 'to the extremity of the globe', Phillip struggled to keep the men and women, convicts and alcohol – in short, the camp and fleet – apart.
• The Alexander was the largest and most notorious of the transport ships in the First Fleet carrying 'ye worst of land-lubbers.'
• The Scarborough, carrying male convicts, was the only ship of the First Fleet whose convicts plotted a mutiny. Also on board were James Ruse and Nathaniel Lucas who became two of the colony's most successful farmers.
• HMS Supply was the smallest and fastest ship in the First Fleet. A naval vessel, she carried 16 marines and accompanied the flagship HMS Sirius on the voyage to Sydney Cove. Over the next three years she made 11 journeys, the last causing her so much damage that she was ordered back to England.
• The Lady Penrhyn was the slowest ship of the First Fleet with the largest number of female convicts. She entered Port Jackson on 26 January and didn't unload until 6 February - the convict women spent a total of 13 months on board.
• The Borrowdale was one of three storeships, carrying two years' worth of provisions and stores for the new colony –including 'forges, hoes, corn mills and pit saws'.
• Fishburn was the largest of the three store ships. Among her cargo were ducks, goats, leather, women's shoes and hats, camp kettles and garden seed. After her return to England, she was lost in a storm off Gun Fleet Sand in October 1789.
• Golden Grove made the fastest return journey of any of the First Fleet ships. Among her cargo were anvils, axes, tents, flour, chickens and Reverend Johnson's cats!
• The Charlotte, one of six transports, left Sydney Cove bound for Canton on 8 May 1788, arriving back in England in June 1789.
• The transport, Friendship, was scuttled and sunk on her return voyage after becoming stuck on sandbanks off the coast of Borneo.
• The Prince of Wales was the last ship to join the First Fleet and remained at Sydney Cove for five months while its stores were unloaded, returning to Falmouth on 25 March 1789,many of the crew having suffered from scurvy on the voyage home.

The First Fleet content places these ships within the wider picture of Sydney’s past. Both familiar and unexpected, they enrich our understanding of Sydney as both a place and a community. Importantly, I hope that as readers discover these entries, and with increased access to collections online and further rigorous historical research, these stories will be furnished with more detail. Perhaps, in the future, new evidence may come to light and we can add more details about the lives of those men, women and children who made the long journey to the unknown. And as this narrative develops in this world we call 'digital', I hope to see the Dictionary continue to inspire readers to learn, engage, contest and ultimately join us, as supporters of this rich resource and lovers of this city’s history.

Anniversaries and events often prompt us to reflect on historical narratives. Not just what happened, but also the historical meanings of events, their legacies, and our personal responses to them. Last week Nicole Cama looked at the origins of ANZAC Day commemorations in Sydney and I thought we'd use the tail end of ANZAC day to reflect upon how historical events inspire creative practitioners, especially writers and artists. The Dictionary of Sydney used the anniversary of the centenary of the Great War as a prompt for new articles on the subject, to share knowledge with our readers and listeners, and promote historical understanding. Many authors, journalists and historians have released or updated books around this subject including Joan Beaumont with Broken Nation (winner of the 2014 Prime Minister's Literary Award for Australian History) and Alastair Thompson with ANZAC Memories: Living with the Legend (new edition). One Hundred Stories, produced through Monash University, tells (silent) multimedia stories that remember the men and women who lost their lives and those who returned to Australia, the gassed, the crippled, the insane, and all those irreparably damaged by war.  The BBC Radio also produced a multimedia series The War That Changed the World looking at Australia's experience of World War I. Historic events, like war, also inspire musicians and artists. Patriotic songs and protest songs against war have been composed and sung in response to almost every modern war. There is an interesting summary  on the Australian government website about songs of war and peace with links to lyrics and sheet music. Several months ago the Blacktown Arts Centre hosted It's Timely, an exhibition exploring the legacy of Whitlam's election and policies (Whitlam's 'It's Time' speech was delievered at Blacktown). As well as providing historical memorabilia about the event, contemporary artists were invited to respond to Whitlam's legacy. At the moment, there is an exhibition at Auburn Peacock Galleries that explores the legacy and meanings of the Gallipoli campaign and the Great War. It's called "Then, Now, Tomorrow - After the War". The history of the Gallipoli campaign resonates strongly in the Auburn area as thousands of people of Turkish descent have settled in the suburb since the 1970s. We have a piece on the history of Auburn authored by Terry Kass. The exhibition features new works commissioned by curators Penny Stannard and Nicole Barakat and each artist has some sort of personal connection to Auburn - be it cultural, familial or place-based - and this drives their exploration of the meanings of Gallipoli and their connections to Auburn. What is wonderful about this sort of creative engagement with history is how diverse the responses and artistic expressions are. There are a range of media and methods used including collage, crochet and more traditional watercolours. And the individual stories that inspired each piece, that attached to the artworks, are fascinating. 'Then, Now, Tomorrow - After the War' is on at the Peacock Gallery within Auburn Botanic Gardens until 17 May. You can listen to a podcast of my segment with Matt at 2SER Breakfast here. Tune in again next week for more of Sydney’s history courtesy of the Dictionary of Sydney, on 107.3 at 8:20am. Don’t miss it!

This Saturday will mark 100 years since Australian troops landed at the Gallipoli peninsula and commenced a disastrous eight-month military campaign. Every 25 of April we remember that first day of battle, but how did these commemorations begin? I spoke to Mitch on 2SER Breakfast about it this morning. Neil Radford, Dictionary of Sydney volunteer and contributor, notes the Gallipoli campaign was the first major military action fought by Australian and New Zealand forces during World War I. He notes the earliest use of the term and concept ‘Anzac Day’ probably occurred in Adelaide in October 1915, when the South Australian Government announced a ‘patriotic procession and carnival’. Many of these processions were designed to raise funds to provide home comforts for the soldiers at the front. But the Mayor of Brisbane proposed that his state, and the other states, designate a particular day of solemn observance. At the same time, Sydney City Council began discussing the commemoration of the first anniversary of Anzac in February 1916. At a council meeting, the Lord Mayor said that ‘the imperishable glory achieved at Anzac had opened a new page in Australian history’. By March, the NSW premier announced the government supported the idea of a national commemoration which included church services and a minute’s silence, and he wanted to see the day devoted to fundraising for a memorial and to recruiting. The Returned Soldiers Association enthusiastically assumed the responsibility of organising the event. But not all responded in support of the day, with some claiming the money could be better spent on supporting wounded soldiers and bereaved families. Despite these concerns, Sydney’s first Anzac Day went ahead on 25 April 1916. At 9am every train and tram was brought to a standstill ‘in order that the passengers may give three cheers for the King, the Empire, and the Anzacs’. At 10am, 5,000 returned soldiers paraded through the city and at 11:30am until 2pm, all government offices and many businesses closed to enable staff to attend a commemoration service in the Domain. At midday, a minute’s silence was declared, and the Lord Mayor later entertained troops at a luncheon. Recruitment campaigns proliferated throughout the city and suburbs, a commemoration concert was held in the Sydney Town Hall in the evening, and more than £5,000 was raised for a memorial in the city. For the duration of the war, Anzac Days followed suit. The parade was cancelled in 1919 as the influenza epidemic prevented people from assembling in large numbers. The following year the 25 of April was declared a national holiday, and in 1929, when the Martin Place Cenotaph was unveiled, the ceremonies moved to the city. During the 1920s, many returned servicemen decided to gather together informally and privately as a way to keep in contact with each other and remember those who did not come home. As time passed, however, the Anzac Day parade and its commemorative services have formed an entrenched tradition. And, as we now know, this concept of Anzac Day as a turning point in Australia’s history was something that began quite early on in the piece, and indeed it continues to characterise conversations about the war to this day. You can listen to a podcast of my segment with Matt at 2SER Breakfast here and read Neil Radford's original article. Tune in again next week for more of Sydney’s history courtesy of the Dictionary of Sydney, on 107.3 at 8:20am. Don’t miss it!

Around this time in 2013 the business of the Rainbow Crossing on Oxford Street at Taylor Square came to a head. It followed a decision in 2012 by the City of Sydney to temporarily repaint two pedestrian crossings in Oxford Street in rainbow colours, in time for the 35^thSydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras parade in 2013. It wasn't an entirely original idea. Rainbow crosswalks were painted on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood as part of the 2012 Gay Pride Month celebrations there and were such a success that they were allowed to remain. The two rainbow crossings in Oxford Street in Sydney were supposed to cost $75,000 but by February 2013 the estimated cost had blown out so much that only one was painted, at Taylor Square. It too was an instant success. After the Mardi Gras the Lord Mayor Clover Moore wanted to leave the crossing in place permanently but Roads Minister Duncan Gay insisted that it be removed because it was a safety hazard with, for instance, people standing in the way of traffic to pose for photographs on the crossing. There was a great deal of controversy around the rainbow crossing, with people writing to the papers and on social media either supporting or condemning it. But in the event, by order of the Minister, late on Wednesday 10^th April, and in the early hours of Thursday 11^th, the rainbow crossing was jack-hammered up, the road was resurfaced and the crossing was repainted with regulation white lines. What happened next was truly amazing. Immediately after the rainbow crossing was removed, activist James Brechney created a chalk crossing in a Surry Hills laneway and started a Facebook page encouraging people to get chalking. And people did, for a mixture of reasons: support for the Lord Mayor Clover Moore and resistance to the State Government as embodied by Roads Minister, Duncan Gay; disappointment at the removal of a colourful addition to Sydney streets; gay pride, and solidarity with the gay community; and support for same-sex marriage. Suddenly people were chalking rainbow crossings all over Sydney, committing little acts of civil disobedience by graffiti on the pavements. Megan Hicks is author of The Decorated Footpath and Reading the Roads. Sydney's Rainbow Crossing will be her third entry for the Dictionary of Sydney and will be published later in the year. If you missed Megan on 2SER Breakfast this morning, you can catch up here. We will be back again next week to hear how Sydney first commemorated Anzac day in Sydney. Tune in at 8:20am, 107.3 FM.   

We have two excellent articles on the Dictionary by writer and curator Megan Hicks: Reading the Roads and The Decorated Footpath. So we were thrilled to have Megan in the chair on 2SER Breakfast this morning discussing pedestrian crossings with Mitch Byatt. In the early days of the colony, streets were laid out in the city but were not sealed so in wet weather they turned to mud, and in dry weather horse-drawn carts and carriages threw up clouds of dust, much of it powdered horse manure. People who walked the streets were referred to as foot passengers, not pedestrians. The term pedestrian originally meant a person taking part in a foot race and wasn't used to mean ordinary people walking about until much late. By the 1850s many Sydney streets had kerbs and gutters and many 'footways' had been flagged with stones for people to walk on. Streets started being paved with wood blocks in the 1880s, but it was many decades before all streets and roads in Sydney were paved. In wet weather, open gutter crossings allowed people on foot to cross over the streams of water running down gutters, and foot crossings - consisting of a kind of path from one side of the street to the other – meant that pedestrians could cross without wading through mud. As traffic in the streets became thicker, drivers of horse-drawn vehicles complained about pedestrians not using the footways, and pedestrians were expected to cross busy streets at intersections. Pedestrians did not necessarily conform. Things got serious when motorcars came on the scene. Pedestrians still thought they could go on crossing the street wherever they pleased, but motorists thought they should keep off the road. There were many accidents and injuries. To control of traffic, lines were marked with paint or metal studs at intersections where vehicles were supposed to stop to let cross traffic through, and these same lines indicated where pedestrians were supposed to cross, that is, at the corner of intersections. By the late 1920s, actual pedestrian crossings as we know them were being painted consisting of two parallel lines across the roadway, roughly three metres apart, to keep pedestrians from straying wider across the road. Crossings were no longer for the convenience of pedestrians. Instead they were places where pedestrians were herded together to cross the street, to make using the streets more convenient for drivers of vehicles. Pedestrians, of course, were defiant then, and are still defiant and impatient today. Some statistics suggest that in Sydney a pedestrian is struck by a vehicle every day in the city. Meanwhile, the look of pedestrian crossings has evolved from parallel white lines across the street to yellow dotted parallel lines then, in the 1950s, to yellow painted zebra crossings. Yellow paint was replaced by white paint in the mid-1980s and these days crossings are marked with water-based thermo-plastic which lasts longer and is less polluting than the petro-chemical solvent paints that were formerly used.

From time to time, people paint DIY crossings where they think a crossing ought to be. Unfortunately, painters of DIY pedestrian crossings generally use house paint, which wears away quickly. In 1999 a DIY crossing apeared in Wilson Street, Newtown, where there was none. Later, at this spot, an official pedestrian crossing was installed, and some time later traffic lights. Have you ever seen a pedestrian crossing painted in a place where someone thinks there ought to be one? --- If you missed our regular Dictionary spot on 2SER Breakfast this morning, you can catch up here. Many thanks for today, Megan. Be sure to tune in again next week to hear more Sydney history. 8:20am, 107.3 FM. Have a great week! --- If you enjoyed today's topic, you can explore more of Megan's obsession on her blog Pavement Graffiti: http://www.meganix.net

This morning on 2SER Breakfast I spoke to Mitch about the history of the Anzac bridge. Next week, on 9 April, marks its 20th anniversary, and with the centenary of Anzac Day just around the corner, it is timely to celebrate this distinctive Sydney icon. Since European settlement there have been three bridges connecting Pyrmont to Glebe Island. And while each of them is significant in terms of their engineering history, together they tell a bigger story about the development of Sydney and the need to connect the city to the ever expanding industry and settlements to the west. Prior to 1788, the land we know as Glebe Island was occupied by the Wangal Aboriginal clan, while across the water in Pyrmont, the land belonged to the Cadigal. The Cadigal had a strong presence in the Pyrmont area well into the 1830s when the land was subdivided and industry and quarries took hold side by side with a small number of residents. In 1860 an abattoir began operating on Glebe Island and the first bridge joining the island to Pyrmont opened in 1861. This bridge, known as Blackbutts (because it was made from Tasmanian Blackbutt), was manually operated using a crank used to swing the span of the bridge! The abattoir featured heavily in the 1882 Royal Commission into Noxious and Offensive Trades. The smell and pollution arising from the slaughter of some 524,415 sheep, 69,991 cattle, 31,269 pigs and 8,348 calves was rank. The abattoir eventually moved to Homebush in 1912 and by then a new bridge spanned the water, opened in June 1903.

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The new bridge was designed by Percy Allan. Like the Pyrmont Bridge built at the same time, the Glebe Island bridge was one of the earliest examples of an electrically powered swing span bridge, allowing two ships to pass through at the same time, one in either direction. The Glebe Island bridge stayed in use until 1995 (after some major work was done on it in the 1930s) until it was replaced by the third - and current - bridge. Initally also called the Glebe Island bridge, it was renamed the Anzac bridge in 1998 by then Premier of New South Wales, Bob Carr. The renaming of the bridge was announced on 80th anniversary of Armistace Day on 11 November 1998, as a memorial to the Australian and New Zealand soldiers who fought in World War I. Artist Alan Somerville was commissioned to make two large bronze statues for either end of the bridge. On the Pyrmont end, an Australian solider stands in an 'arms at rest' position while on the city end of the bridge, a New Zealand solider stands in the same pose. And in a nod to the artist's home country, the New Zealand solider is 5cm taller than his Australian counterpart! Some interesting facts about the Anzac bridge:

• it cost of $170 million to build
• it is supported by two 128 metre-high reinforced concrete towers
• the main span of the bridge is 345 metres
• the length of the deck is 805 metres
• the deck is fully supported by 128 steel stay cables, giving the bridge its distinctive appearance
• the bridge was built in 10 metre segments with each weighing 460 tonnes
• for every segment placed over the water, a segment was placed on land as a counter balance
• for the first time, the bridge is high enough to allow ships pass underneath.

The Glebe Island bridge is an important transport link between the city and the western suburbs of Sydney via Victoria Road in one direction and Westlink on to the M4 and the Blue Mountains in another. Artist Alan Somerville will be speaking at the anniversary of the bridge on 9 April. You can find out more about the anniversary celebrations planned for the 9 April here. You can mark your own celebration by taking a bus or walking across the bridge and enjoying the fantastic views it offers towards Blackwattle and Rozelle bays. And if you are carrying your mobile device, you can enjoy browsing the Dictionary as you go and learn more about this part of Sydney's history! Further reading: Glebe Island bridge by Mark Dunn: http://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/glebe_island_bridge#ref=26238 Glebe Island by Peter Reynolds: http://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/glebe_island#page=all&ref=26196 Pyrmont by Shirley Fitzgerald: http://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/pyrmont If you missed the Dictionary segment on 2SER this morning, you can catch up now here. Next week, guest historian and Dictionary author Megan Hicks will be joining Mitch to talk about the history of Sydney that is right under our feet! Tune in at 8:20 to 107.3 FM. 

With the NSW election this weekend, we thought we would take a look at the history of voting in Sydney. New South Wales was one of the most progressive states in Australia, and indeed the former British Empire. New South Wales achieved self-government in 1856, and the floor of the Legislative Assembly, in Parliament House, has been the venue for every major debate in the state's history. It's always been a rowdy place – the bear pit – and when you consider that, between 1856 and 1900 there were no fewer than 28 ministries, you can get a sense of the pace of change in the period between self-government and Federation. New South Wales has always had a bicameral parliament, meaning it has a lower house, the Legislative Assembly, and a house of review, the upper house, or the Legislative Council. At one stage the Labor Party's platform was the abolition of the Legislative Council and Jack Lang was one of a number of leaders who gave that a red hot go, but the institution has stuck around. After 1880 members of the Legislative Council were voted in, and it's from that point that we can trace the beginnings of what is now a tablecloth ballot paper. The Dictionary has a great image of the first New South Wales legislative assembly from 1880 – of course there were no women. Votes for women New South Wales was comparatively early to give women the vote, although it was nearly ten years behind South Australia and New Zealand. Full male suffrage was granted in 1858, but not everyone could afford to run for Parliament until 1889, when politicians began to be paid for their work. New South Wales women only got the vote in 1902, but were denied real political power - they could not sit in the Legislative Assembly until 1918, or the Legislative Council until 1926.  Some of the best profiles we have in the Dictionary are of women campaigners for the vote. Maybanke Anderson, then Maybanke Wolstenholme, was a self-supporting mother and divorcee who founded the Womanhood Suffrage League of New South Wales. Their mottos were 'Equality is Equity' and Tennyson's lines from The Princess: 'The woman's cause is man's; they rise or sink  Together, dwarfed or God-like, bond or free'. Maybanke was first vice-president and then president during the vital years from 1893 until 1897. Always, for Maybanke, the vote was 'the kernel of all reform'. She was a writer and teacher, and a lifelong campaigner for the rights of women and children. One newspaper called her "the most intellectual woman in Australia" but I am not sure that was intended as a compliment. Maybanke Anderson's allies included Rose Scott, Mary Windeyer, Annie Golding and the inimitable Louisa Lawson. These women were teachers and agitators. Rose Scott, a cousin of David Scott Mitchell, and Mary Windeyer moved in the highest circles, while Louisa Lawson and the teacher Annie Golding were labour activists. They all had slightly different takes on feminism, and politics. Nevertheless, these disparate women united to form the Women's Literary Society, which was the forerunner of the Womanhood Suffrage League. Maybanke perceived opportunity for women in Federation, so left the Womanhood Suffrage League to form the Women's Federal League of New South Wales. Right to vote for Indigenous Australians There is a common misbelief that Aboriginal people gained the right to vote in 1967 but in point of fact Aboriginal people were always able to vote in NSW, if they wanted to. Few knew they had the right but they were not prohibited from voting if they chose to do so. Aboriginal women gained the right to vote in NSW along with other women in 1902. However, Federal elections were a different matter. From 1902, the Federal Constitution specifically excluded Aboriginal people from voting and only returned servicemen could vote federally from 1949. Aboriginal organisers found it more effective to campaign outside the Parliament. John Maynard has written an excellent article on Aboriginal politics in the Dictionary here. You can read Zoe Pollock's article on the Federal Council for the Advancement of Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders in the Dictionary here. You can listen to this morning's podcast from 2SER Breakfast here. Tune in again next week for more Sydney history at 8:20am, 107.3 FM. Further reading

• Maybanke Anderson by Jan Roberts, 2010: http://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/anderson_maybanke
• State Government: http://dictionaryofsydney.org/subject/state_government
• NSW Legislative Assembly: http://dictionaryofsydney.org/organisation/new_south_wales_legislative_assembly

 

Yesterday our best known Irish pubs were sprinkled with green decorations in celebration of the Feast day for the Patron Saint of Ireland - St Patrick. I delved into the Dictionary of Sydney and found out that 211 years ago, Irish convicts attempted to take control of the city! Historian Anne-Maree Whitaker describes how prisoners staged a rebellion at Castle Hill as the sun set on 4 March 1804. I spoke to Matt about it this morning on 2SER Breakfast. The Castle Hill rebellion of 1804 originated far away from the Sydney suburb. The 1798 Rebellion in Ireland has been described as one of the most violent events in Irish history, with a death toll estimated at 30,000 people. After the rebellion was quashed over 400 of its participants were transported to New South Wales. When this new load of convicts arrived on our shores in 1800, Sydney Town’s population was around 2,500 and around 43 per cent of those were convicts. Many of them were concentrated in areas such as Parramatta and Toongabbie and most of the military were stationed in the city with smaller garrisons positioned at these inland settlements. On 4 March 1804, as the sun set and darkness fell, Irish convicts at Castle Hill staged a rebellion. First, the house of one of the leaders was set alight as a signal the rising had begun. Only a few constables were guarding the 200 convicts in the area and most of those joined the rebels. Led by former United Irish captain and stonemason Philip Cunningham, the rebels raided houses in Castle Hill for weapons. Cunningham delivered a rousing speech claiming Sydney and Parramatta were ready to be taken. His plan was to further raid settlements for arms and lead them to the Hawkesbury, where they would form a combined force of 1,100 men. They would then return to Castle Hill, capture Parramatta before going to Sydney where they would embark on ships awaiting their arrival and sail home. Cunningham ended his speech with: ’Now, my boys, Liberty or Death!’ At 11:30pm, an alarm was sounded in Sydney Town in the form of cannons firing and the beating of drums. Governor Philip Gidley King and Major George Johnston of the NSW Corps mobilised their forces and at 1:30am they arrived at Annandale where Johnston took command and led them to Parramatta. As a new day dawned on 5 March, Johnston arrived at Parramatta barracks with 100 soldiers. Under a blazing sun the troops pursued the rebels toward the Hawkesbury. When they finally caught up Johnston demanded to speak with Cunningham who responded with the words: ‘Death or Liberty, and a ship to take us home’. Cunningham insisted on his demands for liberty but while the rebels were distracted, Johnston produced a pistol he had concealed and clapped it to the head of one of the ringleaders saying he would ‘blow his soul to hell’. He then ordered his troops to fire and charge. As the rebels fired back nine of their number were killed with many wounded and taken prisoner. They scattered in all directions and were pursued until nightfall. In the end, 39 convicts were killed; nine rebels were executed in the aftermath. A memorial now stands in Castlebrook Memorial Park, Rouse Hill as a reminder of 'Australia’s Irish rebellion'. Learn more about Sydney's fascinating Irish history with the Dictionary of Sydney's walking tour Old Irish Sydney. Download FREE on Google Play or the App Store. You can listen to a podcast of my segment with Matt at 2SER Breakfast and read Anne-Maree Whitaker's original article in the Dictionary. Tune in again next week for more of Sydney’s history courtesy of the Dictionary of Sydney, on 107.3 at 8:20am. Don’t miss it!